


331 Jester (Random Encounter)

by ialpiriel, meanoldauthor



Series: Mean Old Lady [17]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, adults bein little shits too, kids bein lil shits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-08 18:53:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13464420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ialpiriel/pseuds/ialpiriel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/meanoldauthor/pseuds/meanoldauthor
Summary: Anyone with bad enough luck could have become Courier Six.Many years before that night in the Mojave, an odd roll of fate may have seen them crossing paths.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N, Meanoldauthor: For those who have not/do not wish to read _Crossroads_ , 1) I don't blame you and 2) This work will touch on some groundwork that will be relevant later on, that is covered more deeply in said fic
> 
> A/N, ialpiriel: this is Canon. lucys just Always Been Like This

Old Eagle catches the flash of someone on the horizon, but they're gone too fast for her to get a good look at them, identify them. Not a lot of tribes in this part, at least not for another few days. Could be raiders, could be someone’s hunting party, could be a damn tall gecko. Could be some half-mad jackass got kicked out of his town, too. Can’t tell from this far away. She turns to go back to the rest of the tribe, warn them of folks up ahead.

***

“People, for sure…” Adal hands the binoculars back to the forager. “The birds make me want to say raiders on a kill, those are the two biggest vultures I’ve ever seen.”

“Maybe so, but the rest aren’t carrion birds,” Lebo says, sighting the horizon. “Gone, damn it all. Might be we lose them, before we even get that far.”

“Hmm.” Adal frowns, watching the birds circle. “Take it to Santi. He’ll have a call.”

***

Head Vulture volunteers to go check, and so does Head Magpie, and after a brief moment of looking around at the others, Old Raven volunteers too.

“Not a lot of folks out here,” she says, nods slowly, couches it in careful terms. “Could be somebody needs help.”

“Could be,” Old Eagle agrees. Little Bird and Fledgling are bickering over something inconsequential again, Little Bird in her mother’s jacket, empty-handed, Fledgling without a jacket but holding the BB gun. Adopted Magpie, for her part, is ignoring both of them. “Might just be a hunting party, too. Close enough to be a couple different tribes.”

“Let’s go,” Head Magpie agrees.

The rest of the tribe--kids included, circles up, sets down their packs, and a few call their birds back. Henny calls her bird and Head Vulture’s bird both, gets them to settle down as she pets her own vulture’s head.

The four that make up the search party cross a few hills, slow down when they see some folks coming over a facing ridge.

***

Adal frowns to herself, Rin’s walking stick thumping along in the dirt behind. Potentially dangerous, she’d argued, and wanted to take the hunters, and Santi had nodded, looked to Rin. Old Rin had just smiled and told her to pick one to accompany them.

She holds her rifle tighter, rubs at the carvings on the wood. Peda would have gotten her to agree…

The other hunter, Harris, points with the butt of his spear. “Got four, coming in.”

They pause at the crest of the next hill, letting Rin and Lebo catch up. Adal sizes up the newcomers; women, all of them in sturdy coats, but no signs of shared markings, of tribe. Her rifle stock hovers closer to her shoulder.

Both groups pause, a dip in the hills between them. They stare at each other, until Rin steps up, raises a hand. _”Ne haa low.”_ A long pause, as the strangers look at each other, and she drops her hand. “You guys speak English?”

One of the strangers--by far the oldest-looking, even from this distance, cups her hands around her mouth and calls back.

“We speak English! What tribe are you?”

Adal keeps her eyes on their hands, the hills for reinforcements, but Rin calls back, “Walker tribe, from nowhere! Who’re you?”

“Birds!” the oldest stranger calls back.

“West walk!” the tallest of the strangers calls. She’s the one who breaks with their group first, takes a few steps forward, arms out to her sides, bent at the elbow, her fingers splayed to show how unarmed she is. “Ain’t seen you around here much. You hunting? Traveling?”

Adal shoots a look at their forager, who shrugs. “We got a song on them?”

“Listed along with the nomad tribes,” Adal says, frowns. “Witches. They keep birds as familiars, steal girls away.”

“Don’t be unkind. If all we have is a single line in a neutral jody, it’s not enough to damn them.” Rin starts down the hill, leaning on her stick. Frowning, Adal follows. “Traveling through, camped by the river,” she calls, loud enough to carry. “We have forage and scrap for trade, word on the region northwest of here.” She stops a polite distance from the group, holds out a hand. “I am Rin, senior mender, out of Bo and Samnor. We’re with a band on one of the mid-desert routes.”

The oldest of the strangers trots forward, after the tallest glances back at her and stops walking.

“My name is Raven,” she says, extends her own hand to take Rin’s. “Born to the tribe by an adopted Eagle from Oklahoma. These are the other folks who volunteered to come out at meet you. That one there is Head Vulture--” She drops Rin’s hand and points to the tall stranger, who grins and wiggles her finger in something approximating a wave. “--that there is Old Eagle--” she points to one of the two still hanging back, the one in her mid-twenties, with the long braid hanging down her back and a sturdy glove covered in what look like claw marks. “--and that’s Head Magpie.” She points to the last of them, a woman who, true to name, has a magpie perched on her shoulder. “We have more folks back a ways, and aren’t looking for trouble. Got a couple kids along.”

Rin tips her head back, seems to measure them. “Raven, from an adopted Eagle out of the Oklahoma. It is an honor to have our tribes meet, and meet peaceful.” She gestures over her shoulder. “Adal, out of Jia and Ouray, is our senior hunter. Lebo, our senior Forager,” she said, indicating the two further behind, “and Harris, a hunter. We have a camp established upstream, with room for your people, if you need.”

“Rin,” Adal mutters, but Rin keeps her eyes forward.

“And children, as well. Adal’s boys are good at making friends.”

“ _Rin_.”

“They’re good boys, would get along well with any child old enough to run.”

“I’m sure the girls would love a chance to play with other children their age. Old Eagle is our own--” Raven pauses for just a moment, glances up at Adal, “--our own senior hunter, and the younger of the girls is hers. We don’t have much to trade, but maybe an evening around the campfire, news from south.”

“Can do a little fixing,” Head Vulture pipes up, shuffles her feet around, looks between Rin and the others. “If you got something needs fixing.” 

“Our menders might meet with you,” Rin said, a little cool. “An evening, a shared fire. Fair trade.”

The women nod to each other, and the Walker turn away. “We don’t _know_ them, Rin,” Adal says, slipping back into Walker tongue for privacy. “Don’t know who they are, what they do. What if they’re cannibals?”

“Hush,” Rin says, stumping along unbothered. “They seem friendly enough. And if they only steal girls, your boys are perfectly safe.”

Adal sighs through her nose, but keeps walking.


	2. Chapter 2

Head Vulture is the one who comes back out of the Bird camp, escorting two girls--one maybe ten years old, her hair in two braids, carrying a BB gun, the other maybe six, practically skipping as she watches Head Vulture for cues. Head Vulture is still unarmed, still without a bird on her shoulder, and plops down on a rock.

Adal stays kneeling, wipes her knife clean before resheathing it and tucking a whetstone away. Her boys crouch beside her, eyes round as they watch the girls. The younger one picks at his leather shoes, almost worn enough to throw away, black hair smoothed back into a tail under a child’s scarf. The other is bigger and fairer, barefoot, his hair all flyaway cowlicks under his scarf. He gasps audibly at the girls and mutters, “Ma, _look_.”

Adal rolls an eye towards them. “It’s a toy, Ches,” she says, turns back to the Vulture woman. In English, “You trust her with that?”

“Sure do,” Head Vulture agrees. “Got no reason not to.”

“If you say so.” Adal keeps her eyes at a point over her shoulder, and nods at the girls. “Go play. If you cause trouble I’ll smack your feet.” The boys stand, moving at an uncertain speed, somewhere between a run and a walk. 

The older of the two girls is the first to move, tips her chin up to look down her nose. 

“My name is Little Bird, born to the tribe, born to an Adopted Magpie, who was born to the Texas Bonebreakers,” she says, hoists her gun a little to highlight its presence.

“I’m Alam, out of Adal and Jeth,” the littler one says, half a step behind his brother. “We’re Walker.”

“They know that,” the older boy hisses. “I’m Ches, out of Adal and a townie,” he says, trying to stand as tall as possible. “And I’m an apprentice hunter, I got a knife,” he says, holds it up abruptly.

“What sorta stuff you hunted?” Little Bird asks, eyes narrowing, sizing him up. He's a little shorter--not much, but enough to notice.

Ches tries to pull himself a bit taller, chest puffing out. “I’ve hunted everything everywhere we been, and I’ve done lopers in the high hills alone,” he says. He holds the knife out flat in his hand, showing off the black, hooked antler that made up the handle. It still has a faint smell of glue.

“You haven’t hunted _everything_ ,” Alam says. Ches flushes, kicks him lightly in the ankle.

“Don't hunt birds, do you?” Little Bird asks, narrows her eyes further.

He takes a deep breath. “We hunt…” Over her shoulder, he can see the strangers’ camp, all the birds flapping about. He lets the breath out, slower. “I…we do _sometimes_.”

“Do you steal girls?” Alam asks. His brother kicks him again, and Alam kicks back.

“Don’t _steal_ anybody,” Little Bird replies, scowls, turns her eyes on Alam. “Only gets called stealing ‘cause people don’t want ‘em to leave.”

Alam screws up his face and squints at her. Ches tugs his scarf down over his eyes, making him groan. “What’s your name?” he asks, looking at the younger girl. “Littler Bird?”

“Fledgling,” she replies, scowls. “That’s not how names work, dummy.”

“Normal people’s names don’t,” Ches says. “And normal people don’t walk around with flocks of birds.”

“Yes they do,” Fledgling replies. “You’re gonna be a ghost when you die ‘cause you don’t have a bird.”

“Well, yeah?” Ches puts his hands on his hips. “What else happens? Your ghost jumps out when you breathe a last breath, and jumps back into a baby the first time it breathes one _in_. Everybody knows that. Where did the ghost in _you_ come from?”

“That ain’t how ghosts work either,” Little Bird snorts.

“Look at ‘em,” Head Vulture says, leans toward Adal, eyes on the kids. “Known each other five minutes and they’re already talkin’ theology.”

“Better’n bloody noses,” Adal says, sitting cross legged with her rifle on her lap. “Grownups might have started a war by now.”

Head Vulture snorts, laughs.

“They got time yet.”

“Well then maybe I _will_ catch a bird, and then what happens?” Ches says, with the air of someone playing their trump card.

“AIn’t your bird just ‘cause you can keep it in a cage and get it to eat outta your hand. You gotta do other stuff with it,” Little Bird says. “So you can catch a bird but that doesn’t mean you ain’t gonna be a ghost.”

Ches scowls, still looking everywhere but at the BB gun in her hands. He whacks his brother on the arm. “You still have that bug you found? He found a bug,” he says, looking back at the girls.

“What sort of bug?” Little Bird asks, steps closer. Fledgling, behind her, pulls a face. “We saw cazadores last week. Head Vulture shot ‘em out of the air.” She points to Head Vulture, who nods and says nothing.

Alam goes _pfft_. “I’ve seen Ma do that for ages. Only better hunter than her is Peda, and she’s too busy having a baby to do all the real Senior Hunter stuff.”

Behind him, Adal coughs. Ches stiffens. “I’m gonna hunt cazadores, too. And with a real gun, not that toy you’ve got,” he says, pointing.

“Don’t see you with _any_ gun,” Little Bird replies, sneers.

“You really hunted the damn things?” Head Vulture asks, quietly.

“When I needed to,” Adal says, wiping a bit of imaginary dirt off the stock of her gun. “Safer to clear a nest than just hope they don’t find your band.” She taps her fingers on it, finally nods in Head Vulture’s direction. “Good shooting, though. Hard to hit on the wing.”

“Trick is to lay bait. Shoot a coyote or nightstalker in the leg, let it limp a while, things are all over it, get four or five good shots before they catch on. Can take out a whole generation if you got something explosive.”

“Well we don’t just _hand them out_ ,” Ches says, arms folded. “You have to earn it, be the best of the best of our hunters, which is why _I’m_ gonna have one.”

Alam makes a noise. Ches shoves him, sending him staggering. When he tries to retaliate, arms pinwheeling, Ches puts a hand on his head and sticks out his tongue, keeping him at bay. Alam latches onto his arm instead, pulling himself up to bite his wrist.

Ches swears and drops him, backing away. Both with a blow struck, they seem to forget the scuffle. The adults look on, Adal with her chin on her fist. Little Bird and Fledgling watch the whole thing play out, and neither remarks on it, though Little Bird snorts when the boys pull apart.

“If you’re gonna be so good, wanna try shooting?” Little Bird asks. “Bet there’s some bottles we can shoot, somewhere. Bet I can shoot better’n you.”

“If you’re going shooting, take it outside of camp,” Adal says, stands.

“Of course, Miss Hunter,” Little Bird says, turns to look at Adal, gives her a wide-eyed, serious nod. “They taught me to never shoot somewhere I might hit someone on accident.”

Adal purses her lips, seems mollified. Ches stepped up. “And I know you don’t even have your finger on the trigger, until you’re ready to pull it,” he says, looking to her for approval.

“Think we got a forager or two with cans or bottles we could use,” she said, glancing at Head Vulture. “This safe on you?”

“They’ll all be behind the gun,” Head Vulture replies, shrugs. “They been fighting over it for the last three months and ain’t either of ‘em got shot yet. “

There‘s a little apprehension in her eyes at that, but Adal turns for the Walker camp, keeping them in the corner of her vision as long as possible.

“Keep that thing aimed away from camp, set the stuff up over there.” Head Vulture starts directing the children, points them at a large, irregular boulder jutting out of the ground. “Don’t aim at anything but what she brings back.”

“Yes ma’am, Missus Vulture,” Ches says. “I’ve shot pistols before, this can’t be _too_ hard.”

“Pistols aren’t rifles,” Little Bird says, raises her eyebrows. “They don’t shoot the same. Maybe that’s why they didn’t give you a gun, ‘cause you ain’t smart enough to know the difference.”

Ches flushes beet red. Alam yanks on the back of his shirt, stops him as he tries to advance. “Maybe they didn’t give you a _bird_ because you _ought_ to be a ghost.”

“It’s ‘cause I’m ten and you don’t get a bird until you’re thirteen or fourteen,” Little Bird replies. “If you were smart, you’d know that.”

“Little Bird,” Head Vulture cautions.

“Sorry,” Little Bird says, eyes cool, no real contrition in her voice.

They walk in silence, stopping a fair distance from the boulder. Ches stays off at the edge of the group, and Alam scuffs his feet by the girls. “So what stuff do you do with a bird?”

Adal, arms full of bottles, looks from the three of them huddled together, Ches alone, and finally at Head Vulture. “All good?”

“All had some words with each other, but I think we’re all good,” Head Vulture agrees. “Figured we’d set stuff up on that rock, see who could hit more of ‘em on one reload.”

“Right,” Adal says, still looking at the children. By the time she finishes arranging the bottles and turns back, Ches is at least facing the others, craning to see what they’re doing. “Right, who’s up first?”

“Me!” says Little Bird, trots forward. She waits until Adal is out of the way, then drops to one knee and raises the BB gun.

 _Plink_ and the first can goes rolling off the back of the rock.

Her second and third shots miss, and she sets the gun down to wipe her hands before taking her fourth, and knocking a bottle down.

She misses her next three shots, then pings a can and a bottle, one after the other, on her eighth and ninth shots, then misses her tenth, then gets the last two cans with two more shots.

“That’s twelve shots!” she crows, and stands up. She looks to Head Vulture, who nods and gives her a smile and a thumbs up, and then turns to Ches and holds out the BB gun.

He takes it, hands away from the trigger, keeps the barrel pointed away from both them and the camp. Examining the receiver, he looks up at Head Vulture. “How do I reload it?”

“Ah, here.” Head Vulture shuffles through her pockets, pulls out a little cloth bag that rattles. “See this little trapdoor here, go like this, like this, there you go. Reload ‘til she’s full.”

Ches kneels, takes his time shaking the BBs into the gun, deliberately checks the safety before snapping it off. He glances at Adal, coming back from setting up the targets, who takes a deep breath and lets it out slow, through pursed lips.

He nods, puts the little rifle to his shoulder. One shot, and no movement at the end of the range. He cycles the gun, settles his knee more comfortably, and sights again, to a _plink!_ as the bottle went down. Again, slowly, breathing with the shots, two, three, until they were all down. “Six in ten,” he says, stands, holding it out to Little Bird with a gleam in his eye.

“‘S just ‘cause you’re lucky,” Little Bird grumbles, and takes the BB gun back, turns to hand it to Alam. “Only took two less shots. ‘S not _that_ many.”

“But he’s never--” Alam stops as Adal nudges him, going back to the bottles. He takes the rifle from Little Bird, fumbles at the trapdoor, Ches once grabbing the barrel to keep it pointed downrange. He kneels to fire, the BBs running out before dropping the last half of the targets. He passes it back to her, mouth set stubbornly.

Little Bird reloads the BB gun before she passes it to Fledgling, who stays standing to fire.

She knocks down her first can on her fourteenth shot, dejectedly hands the gun back to Little Bird, who reloads it again.

“That’s okay,” she says, and pats Fledgling on the shoulder. “It’s ‘cause you’re little.”

Alam had sat back on his heels, fishing a jar from the back of his shirt and holding it up to the light. A large black wasp scuttles around inside it, buzzing indignantly whenever he gives it a shake. “Don’t scare it,” Ches says. He pauses as he passes his mother, who gives him a quick thump on the back and a grin. He smiles back before crouching next to his brother.

“I wanna see,” Little Bird says, hands the gun back to Fledgling, squats down too. Fledgling looks around, finally hands the gun to Head vulture, who takes it with a laugh, so Fledging can scramble to join the spectacle of a wasp in a jar.

“It’s like a little tiny Cazador,” Alam says, points as it flutters its wings. “Think it stings like one?”

“How’d you get it in there?” Little Bird asks, leans in a little further.

“Twenty caps one of mine gets stung first,” Head Vulture murmurs, rattles a few caps in her pocket.

“He’s been antagonizing the poor thing all day,” Adal says. “It has to know his face by now. You’re on.”

“It got drunk on some rotten mutfruit and was crawling around,” Alam says, holds it to his ear and grins at the buzz. “I bet it can fly alright now though.”

“You should just throw it,” Ches says. “It’s gonna be _mad_ when you open that jar.”

Alam sticks his tongue out, and holds the jar out to the girls. “You’re not scared like he is, right?”

“‘Course not,” Little Bird says, and snatches the jar. “I bet it’ll just fly off,” and she unscrews the lid.

The wasp seems to hesitate just a moment when the lid is removed, until Little Bird jostles the jar.

The wasp takes off, flies up, and, immediately, stings her on the jaw.

“Twenty caps!” Head Vulture yells over her shoulder as she bolts for Little Bird.

Before Head Vulture can reach them, Alam swings with all his might at the wasp and her face, connecting with the latter with a _smack!_ , but stays flailing on the spot as the wasp slips free to buzz around his head. His panicked shouts scale up into screams as Ches stands back, laughing. Fledgling scrambles away at top speed, in Head Vulture’s direction.

“I _told_ you, you little hellion!” Adal says, wading in to shoo it away. “This is what you get!”

Head Vulture pulls Little Bird aside, fumbles through her pockets for anything to help, finds nothing.

“It’ll pass,” she soothes. “Only lasts a little while.”

Little Bird just wails in response.

“Come on, let me see--” Alam screams louder as Adal tries to pull his hands away from his face. “Did it get you in the eye?” she says, holding his shoulders instead. He shakes his head, face still hidden. “Then you’re gonna be fine, let’s find something cold to put on it…”

“Think we got some painkillers back in our camp,” Head Vulture says. “Pack some xander root over it, that’ll numb it some. Come on.” After a bit of wrangling, she scoops Little Bird up, bridal style, and rolls her eyes. “We’ll be back over to your camp later,” she says to Adal. “Once we got this sorted.”

“Fair enough,” Adal says, holding out a hand to Ches for one of the target-practice bottles. She hikes Alam up onto her hip and presses the glass over the sting on his cheek. “Good luck.”


	3. Chapter 3

Head Vulture and a woman she calls her wife have settled down, in among the menders, Head Vulture with most of a laser rifle in her lap--the rest of it spread on a towel on the ground next to her--her wife with a mostly-sewn coat.

Jeth looks askance at them, several sections of rope laid out before him, bending a length of wire into a needle. The laser rifle gets a particularly dirty look, and he shifts so he isn’t watching the pair full-on as he works. Neither of them pays him much mind--talking mostly between themselves, or making small talk with people sitting closer.

“You see that, Alam?” he says, nodding. “There’s a reason we don’t bother with that kind of nonsense. Technology falls apart faster than something you can make with your own two hands. You spend more time fixing it than using it.” Crouched beside him and hugging his knees, Alam nods, bottle still held to his cheek.

“It’s two hundred years old,” Head Vulture says, not looking up from her tuning. “How much work do those hunter’s guns need to keep working? They’re damn fine pieces, but don’t sit there and tell me they ain’t never needed fixed.” Head Vulture grunts. “‘S just for fun anyway, if I wanted a gun I’d have a damn gun.” She hesitates, holding her pliers above whatever she was going to move on to next. “Bet you’re just jealous ‘cause you don’t know how all this circuitry works.” She grins, winks at Jeth, and continues. “‘S alright, we all gotta start somewhere. Big man wanna tell me what he knows about laser rifles?”

Jeth tugs his hood up higher, covering how his ears redden. “I’m certain I couldn’t say. The rifle’s are the hunters’ responsibility, but if _they_ can learn to maintain them, it can’t be difficult. Surely a few pieces of metal are more durable than....that,” he says, waving. “Materials, tools, power to operate them...Those are finite resources, madam. I’ll gladly take wood and scrap, that will always be plentiful.”

“Sure are finite,” Head Vulture agrees, amiable. “Just means I gotta be creative with the stuff I make. Gotta be careful, can’t redo it eight times and take the best of the lot.” She grins, winks at another of the menders, and next to her, her wife elbows her in the ribs.

Jeth starts pulling apart the ends of the ropes with more force than necessary. “It saddens me to think that _manners,_ while sitting in a stranger’s camp, are finite as well.”

“Really is a shame,” Head Vulture agrees. “Shame to see folks speak ill of things they don’t understand, too.”

He fixes her with a hard stare, jaw set. “If you insist on insulting me in our own--”

“Knock it off, Jeth,” from another mender, darning a hole in his pack.

Beside him, Alam scoots away, inching backward on his rear. “She is antagonizing _us_ \--”

“Jeth.” Amidst the other menders, Rin didn’t even look up from her needlework. “Walk.”

He takes a noisy breath before he rises to his feet, jerks his shirt straight, and stalks off. Alam looks from him to the other menders before following meekly in his shadow.

Head Vulture waits until he’s gone to speak.

“Y’all do good work,” she says, twists something until it clicks. “Don’t mean to cause offense, except to those who can’t take the piss.”

A Walker woman shakes her head. “Doesn’t take much with him. He’s an excellent mender, mind, but he takes it very seriously.” She sighs, going back to the pot of glue she’s boiling. “For the life of me, don’t know what Adal sees in him.” She gives it a stir, looking over at Henny’s coat. “Nice workmanship on that. Bighorner?”

“Not sure I could throw stones, since I’ve put up with this one since we were teenagers.” Henny rasps, and whacks Head Vulture on the shoulder. “Yeah, Bighorner. Got it a couple months ago, been slow work, on the road, but I’ll have a new coat before midsummer.”

“Right in time for the hot!” she says, laughing. “I understand though, you work when you can. Do you people do anything for midsummers?”

“Oh, you know, dance naked under the full moon, animal sacrifices, mysterious chanting, stuff like that,” Head Vulture says. Henny smacks her shoulder again and Head Vulture laughs.

“Usually we set up near a swimming hole, spend a month or two foraging nearby. Takes a few months to get from one resting place to the other, folks who have something to do will do it, the rest of us go fishing and work on projects. What about you folks? Headed somewhere in particular?”

“I knew it,” she says, and the others chuckle. “Not headed anywhere at the moment. This summer’s on the road, but we’ll call spring births on the solstice, do a bit of a fling if we have the time and forage. None of this month’s rest, though, sounds boring,” this last with a smile.

“You’d be amazed at the interpersonal drama you can manufacture between a couple twenty year olds,” Head Vulture laughs. “Makes for a good show for a month and a half or so. Do a lot of hunting, too. Some growing up rituals if you got girls old enough for that, or people new enough they ain’t hunted up a bird yet. Nice to let the old folks off their feet for a while, too.” 

The mender laughs again. “Maybe let you ladies steal me away after all!”

“Hey, we’re always recruiting.” Head Vulture gives her a broad wink, and laughs.

***

Adal looks over the strangers’ camp, sitting back on a sun-warm rock. Ches shuffles up beside her, keeping a safe distance from the eagle blinking at him. “Tents and all. We usually don’t bother,” she says, gesturing back at the Walker camp, “except we got a baby happening and the ma wanted privacy.”

“Spend a lot of time out in the open. Better than digging scrapes every night, keeps the rain and the wind off.” Owl-Eagle settles down on the ground, off to Adal’s side, lights a cigarette. She holds a cigarette, and her lighter, up, eyebrows raised.

Adal makes a face, shakes her head. “True enough. We’d maybe do the same, if we’re anywhere longer than a day or two.”

“Tents help with the folks who haven’t traveled much, too,” Owl-Eagle continues, tucks the cigarette and lighter back into the inside breast pocket of her coat. “All get so comfy in tents and houses and huts. Don’t know how to sleep in the open.”

Little Bird--half her face still swollen--creeps up next to Ches.

“You scared of the birds?” she asks, points at the golden eagle perched on a tent pole.

“No,” he says, arms locked tight against his sides. The adults keep talking, unperturbed.

“I bet you are,” Little Bird says.

“They’re just sitting there,” he says, wiping the palms of his hands on his shirt. The eagle cocks its head, and he stops. “They’re not...attacking or anything.”

“You wanna see one up close?” Little Bird asks, and before Ches can answer, she sticks her fingers in her mouth, gives three short whistles.

Out of the middle of camp, a single huge vulture takes off, low over the tents, and comes flying right at her. Ches stiffens and leans back, feet planted, and even Adal looks up, but neither moves away. The vulture lands in front of Little Bird with a clatter of wings, stretches up at her hands. She pats it on the beak, and it turns its head to look at her.

“Hell’s bells, is that a mutant, or were they always like that?” Adal says, blinking at the size of it. “It could carry off a mole rat.”

Beside her, Ches makes a small noise.

“Best we can tell, they’ve always been about that big. Maybe a little bigger nowadays, but some of our real old folks say they’d heard about ‘em way back when, were about that size,” Owl-Eagle says, leans back on her hands to watch the vulture turn its attentions on Ches, having deduced that Little Bird has nothing to give it. “Hell of a thing to see coming at you though.”

“True that,” she says. “Give it a pat, Ches, it’s tame,” with a glance at Owl-Eagle.

He goes rigid. Ches glances at his mother, at Little Bird, and at the monster in front of him. Gritting his teeth, he stretches his arm out as far as it will go, reaching for the bird’s naked, mottled head. The bird swaggers forward a few steps, turns its head to look at Ches from one eye. It’s head bobs gently as he pats it, but it doesn’t lean into the contact. With a shaky smile, he pulls away, giving Little Bird a superior look. “It’s a carrion bird, not a hunting bird,” he says, voice still a little high.

“You want to see one of the eagles up close too?” Owl-Eagle asks. She moves to stand up.

Panic grips his face, but Ches gulps, looking at Little Bird. He has to lick his lips before squeaking out, “Yes?”

“Alright,” Owl-Eagle agrees, holds one arm up in the direction of the eagle that’s been watching them. She gives one long whistle that rises in pitch, then one short sharp whistle right after. The bird takes off, lands on her glove, and immediately looks to her. She digs something out of her pocket, holds it up in a flat palm. The eagle grabs whatever it is and swallows. Owl-Eagle approaches, lowers her arm a little to bring the eagle down to Ches’s level.

Its beak catches the light as he stares, watches it shift its weight on its sickle toes. He raises a hand again, looking at her uncertainly.

“You can touch her if you want,” Owl-Eagle says, and gestures with her free hand.

He nods, licks his lips. He touches it on the chest, once, and it only turns to look. Again, more firmly as he works his fingers into its feathers, his awed look disappearing as it snaps. He leaps away, biting back a yell.

“Yeah, she does that sometimes,” Owl-Eagle says. “Didn’t get you? Still got all your fingers?”

He holds up his hands, cringing. Adal ruffles his hair, grinning. “Can still count to ten, kiddo.”

Owl-Eagle laughs, gently tosses the bird into the air. She takes off, circles back to her perch without a sound.

“She only snaps at people she doesn’t trust,” Little Bird whispers loudly.

“Little Bird,” Owl-Eagle warns, tugs on the back of her shirt.

Adal puts a hand on Ches’s shoulder as he squares up, and he slouches back down. “Better’n that,” she murmurs in their own language. “Well, both strangers. Can’t expect everyone to hit it off,” she says in English, doesn’t quite look at Little Bird. “I ought to get back, make sure Jeth hasn’t--”

A shout went up from the Walker camp, and a ripple goes through the group as they whisper to one another. The flap on the lone tent is pulled aside, someone stepping out.

“Is that Peda?” Ches asked, craning.

“Probably Fen.” Adal pats him on the shoulder, lets him go. “One more mouth to feed,” she says, grins as she turns to Head Vulture. “C’mon, I wanna meet ‘em.”

“Ma,” Ches hisses as she strikes off. “What if it’s a…”

She slows, looks back at Owl-Eagle.

“If it can't walk, we don't want it,” Owl-Eagle says, raises one eyebrow, tips her chin down to give Ches a look of censure. “Who'd nurse it anyway?” She looks to Adal. “We can get our folks, if you'd like us to. Don't know how you all do births and the like.”

“Up to the ma,” she says. “You’re welcome, and your people, if you got any trade you might wanna do. Some of ours might do a special meal, for the birth, but not much’ll happen until the solstice.”

Owl-Eagle grins. “Glad to share a meal, glad to help if you want it. Know Henny and Techie would love to see a baby.”

The Walker cluster around the tent, standing up on their toes to see. Adal worms her way through them, in time to see wiry old Elder Santi hold up a bundle, wailing in a thready little voice. “...And I introduce to you, Ayla, out of Peda and Fen.” The cheering was subdued, the baby still proving the strength of her lungs. Santi turned, handing it back to Fen, Peda leaning hard on her shoulder. “May she find her way to Crossroads safe. By the sound of her, she will,” he adds, wry.

Fen smiles, dark circles still under her eyes. “A good singing voice,” she says, helping Peda to sit before passing the child over. “You’re about to fall over, dear.”

Out in the crowd, Head Vulture elbows Henny in the ribs.

“It’s a baby,” she stage-whispers. “Healthy girl.”

“I’m not that short,” Henny hisses back. “I can still see.”

Most of the Walker break away, going back to their own fires, chattering excitedly. A few more press in, crouching down to see the newborn without looming. Peda smiles up at them, still a little wan, but the baby was calmer in her arms. “She’s fed once, should be quiet a little while.”

Adal holds out her arms. “Can I…?”

Peda passes her the bundle, and Adal cuddles her up against her chest. Her face is wreathed in smiles, and Ches leans in to look. “She’s wrinkly.”

“Should’ve seen yourself,” she says, sticking her tongue out, and he stuck his out back. “Ayla? Isn’t that your gramma, Fen?”

Little Bird and Fledgling slip through the crowd, until they stand at the front edge of the group--just in front of Henny and Head Vulture, who are spectating the baby, but not too close.

“That’s what you looked like when you got born,” Little Bird says to Fledgling, points at Ayla.

Ches snorts, poking at the baby’s fists, clutched up under her chin. Adal bounces her a little, smiling.


	4. Chapter 4

“Hey,” Head Vulture calls, low. She and Henny and the little girls had disappeared back to the camp for a while, and now Head Vulture approaches again, alone. “I brought a birth gift over. Wasn’t sure how gifts work, and if you got any gods I’m gonna piss off.” She laughs a little, turns something over in her hands.

Sitting outside the tent, Adal looks up at her, dark in the orange evening light. “Depends on the god,” she says, pulling a pot off the fire. “So you’re the one my husband is having a screaming pissfit over?”

“Hell, is he that bent outta shape?” She pauses, watches Adal’s face, raises her eyebrows.

“There’s a damn reason I’m here instead of around my own fire tonight,” she said, folding her arms. 

“You need me to knock some sense into him? Offer’s open.”

Adal opens her mouth, closes it, hiding her teeth. She finally says, “The mothers are taking a rest. What’s this gift?”

“It’s a protection charm.” Head Vulture let’s the change in subject go, holds out her hand, the charm in her palm. It’s a fat-bodied bird, texture carved into its head and wings, a small glass oval with wires coming out both ends glued in place around its neck. “Diode, for protection, Reaver thing, and a pigeon, for always knowing how to get home, Bird thing.” She pulls her hand back. “Can’t give a baby we don’t know a better gift.”

“That’s...nice of you. For a girl you don’t know,” Adal says, turning it over. Something suspicious is in her voice. “Let me...take it to them, here.”

She pushes the flap aside. There are murmured voices, and she returns with Fen, a little rumpled from sleep, holding the charm. “Adal says this is from you?”

“Me’n some of the others, yeah,” Head Vulture agrees, digs her hands into her pockets, bobs her head. “Didn’t seem right to see a birth and not bring a gift.”

Fen rubs her thumb over it. She and Adal share a look, Adal misgiving, Fen politely blank. 

“That’s very thoughtful of you. But she’s a babe, and can’t carry any burdens yet. Peda and I will hold it, until she’s old enough to understand where it came from.”

“Where it might take her,” Adal mutters, and Fen’s lips go a little thin.

Head Vulture narrows her eyes a hair, but then grins big.

“Take her wherever you folks call home, if it does it’s job right. Ain’t recruiting, if that’s what you’re suggesting.” She winks at Adal, turns her attention back to Fen. “Might still have some splinters yet, probably good you’re gonna hold it for a while.”

“It would be very rude,” Fen says, slightly too loud, pointedly not looking at Adal, “to turn down a well-wishing.”

Adal clenches her jaw. “Well, hate to piss off anyone else tonight,” she says, standing.

“Adal, don’t--” Fen sighs as she stalks off. She shakes her head as she turns back to Head Vulture. “It’s not our custom for one so young to carry a gift. We will keep it for her, gladly, until we can tell her who it came from.” She tucks it into a pouch at her waist. “Thank you, stranger. We hope to meet you well on the road.”

“If you’re going to keep me awake, I might as well be involved.” The tent flap was pulled aside, and Peda knelt in the opening, the baby in a sling. “What’s this now?”

Fen passed her the trinket. “From our friend, here. A good luck token, wayfinding gift.”

“Just thought it was rude to see a birth and not have a gift,” Head Vulture repeats, cranes her neck slightly to see the baby. “So we made something real quick. The diode for protection, and the pigeon to find her way home.”

“It’s lovely!” Peda said. “Thank you. That’s very kind.” She seems to think a moment, considers Head Vulture’s peering. “Would you...like to hold her?”

“Love to, if you really don’t mind,” Head Vulture agrees, eyebrows raised, fighting down a smile.

Peda slips her out of the sling, and Ayla gurgles at the shift, eyes half-open and sleepy. She fidgets inside her swaddling-cloth as her mother holds her out.

Head Vulture settles down on the ground, quickly, reaches out and takes Ayla gently.

“Ain’t you cute,” she murmurs, smiles down at the baby. “Nice and fresh and making noises that ain’t words yet.” The baby gurgles again, and Head Vulture giggles. “Look at you,” she coos. “Actin’ like there’s anything you could want that you ain’t got.”

Fen rests her cheek on Peda’s shoulder, both of them smiling softly. Glancing down, Peda lifted the lid on the pot. “So I did hear Adal.”

“She’s...dealing with things tonight,” Fen said, reaching to dig in her pack. She gestures to Head Vulture. “I can get another bowl, if…”

“You don't gotta feed me or anything,” Head Vulture murmurs. “I got dinner waiting back at our camp. I can give you your baby back, if you wanna get on with your evening.” She makes a hesitant move toward handing Ayla back.

“She seems to like you,” Peda said, reaching inside for a bowl. “So long as you’re fine with us eating in front of you. Been a tiring day.”

Head Vulture laughs.

“Knock yourselves out. Adopted Magpie and Old Eagle voted me best babysitter out of everyone, and the more I hold this baby the more I can tell Henny about it.” She sits back, takes a better hold on Ayla. “Ain’t had a lot of babies to carry around since the girls got too big.” She pauses a moment. “Could come with you and carry her for you when you get tired of it,” she offers, laughs a little.

The mothers both laugh, but it dies out faster than it ought. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” Fen says. “Both our bands were moving on tomorrow. We could never take you away from them.”

“Wouldn’t wanna stretch your hospitality like that anyway,” Head Vulture agrees. “Thanks for letting me hold her this long. Not ever gonna get one of my own, so I gotta make do with other folks’ kids.” She begins to shuffle her arms around, disentangle herself from Ayla and her swaddling for real.

“We’ll probably be tired of carrying her soon enough,” Peda says, taking her back. Ayla makes a fussy little whine as she resettles her. “I’m glad she’s up to your standards.”

“Ain’t met a baby who wasn’t,” Head Vulture sighs, and leans forward on her elbows. “Hope she’s quiet for you. Midnight feeding’s killer when you gotta get up and walk all day.”

Peda laughs, rocking her gently. “I’ve no doubt, at this point.”


	5. Chapter 5

Adal is up to her knees in the stream, chipping at something stuck inside a pot. Muttering to herself, she tips it to catch the morning sun before wedging the stupid thing against a rock to soak. As she looks up, she hesitates. There’s one of the Birds standing on the bank--looks like one of the girls from yesterday, her head shaved down, carrying an empty plastic bucket.

“Head Vulture says you’re the mother of the boys the girls were playing with yesterday?” Her voice is soft, just loud enough to be heard over the water.

“I am,” she says, wading out. “The older one’s yours, then? The little shit-stirrer?”

The woman laughs.

“That one’s mine, yeah. She didn’t cause too much trouble, I hope? I heard there was a wasp?” She steps closer to the river, fumbles with the bucket a bit.

“There was,” Adal says, wry. “A bit of a lesson learned, there. Little Bird, is it? Not the first kid I’ve met that needed a tough reminder on manners.” She sat back on a rock, next to her pot. “I’m Adal, by the way.”

“Don’t I know it. She’s picking up some lessons I’d rather she not from some of the older folks.” The woman glances back at the camp, where only a couple people are up and moving around. “Adopted Magpie. I’m out of Texas, I remember hearing stories of the Walker when I was little. It’s good to meet you.”

“Bonebreaker, I heard your girl say? My father’s father was Bonebreaker,” Adal says. “Never met him myself, but small world, eh?” She follows her gaze toward the camp. “We’ve heard about you Birds before, too. Only so many roads, probably not the first time we’ve met.”

“You’n me could be cousins. You know his name?,” Adopted Magpie laughs. “And you probably ain’t met our group before, Raven and Techie and Henny say they don’t remember you folks, so it must’ve been a good long while or another walk.” 

“No, no. We got a bunch of other bands. And his name, uh…” Adal rubs at her lip, staring off to one side. “Names aren’t so important, if they aren’t Walker...Peter? Peter, uh...Skull-river, I think. Sound familiar?”

“Calling it a river would be generous.” Adopted Magpie laughs again. “Skull-Creek. My father was a Skull-Creek too. Don’t know any Peters, though. Must be distant.”

“Must be,” Adal says. She flicks an eye at the bucket she’s carrying, still empty and no move made to fill it. “So… Our folk will be moving on today.”

“Yeah, ours too.” Adopted Magpie shuffles her bucket in her hands. “Techie, uh, sent me over here.” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder, back at their camp, where there’s one figure--tall, head buzzed, wearing a poncho--who hasn’t moved. As soon as she’s pointed at, she ducks away and looks busy somewhere else. “She wanted me to talk to you.”

“Oh. She did, did she.” Adal sighs. “Yeah, she seems the type. Jeth had...Quite a bit to say.” She folds her arms. “I’ll apologize if it was something I did, but I won’t go making excuses for him. He can own up to his own mistakes.”

“Oh, no, no, not that at all.” Adopted Magpie waves one hand, clutches her bucket under the other one. “She wanted me to tell you that you could, uh, I quote, ‘Do better than him.’” She fumbles with the bucket again, turns to look over her shoulder. “I told her I didn’t want to bother you but. You’ve seen how she is.” She holds her bucket up and heads into the stream. “I’m going to get my water and then I’ll go tell her off, I’m so sorry, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“I--” Adal takes a breath and moves as if to stand, looking for Head Vulture. “So she just put you up to this, instead of meddling in things herself?” she says, grabbing the pot from the stream. Adopted Magpie starts to speak, voice soft, but Adal snorts. “Hell, they’re made for each other, know what’s good for everyone else.” Grabbing a handful of sand from the stream bed, she scours the inside of the pot with more force than necessary. “Not like I don’t fucking _know_ what he’s like. It’s just for the boys’ sake, I can’t split them up. So do me a favor, and go tell her to stick her nose back where it belongs.”

“I will. She--” Adopted Magpie pauses, sighs, looks down at her bucket. “Look, I left mine when I was nineteen and maybe a week from having Little Bird. That’s why she wanted me to come talk to you instead of doing it herself. Thought it’d be a better pitch from someone who had a kid and left with it.” She still doesn't look at Adal. “I’ll tell her you told her to shove it, though.”

“In those words,” Adal says, straightening. She wavers a moment, like she might walk away, but tucks the pot under her arm instead. “And I’m sorry to hear that, miss, sounds like it must’ve been a hard time. Thanks for the advice. But I got a place with my tribe, and my boys. I think…” She glances back towards the Walker camp, fires almost all extinguished, people milling about as they organized themself to walk. “I won’t leave, he’s not worth it. Maybe someday I’ll send what’s left of him to your Head Vulture.”

Adopted Magpie laughs again.

“I’ll tell her that too. She’ll think it’s funny.”

It’s not quite a smile on her face, but Adal nods and steps from the water. “I think my folk’ll be moving on here. It’s been good meeting with you and yours, Adopted Magpie. Walk well.”

“You too.” Adopted Magpie gives her a smile and a nod in return.

***

“Hey, wrap up over there, we’re losing daylight!” someone calls from the Bird camp, and the handful of Magpies and Eagles start to excuse themselves. Little Bird hovers on the periphery of Adopted Magpie’s discussion with Rin, watching the rest of the adults start to separate.

Ches scuffs his feet as he walks up, clutching something wrapped in a cloth. Alam hangs just off his shoulder, trying not to grin. Stopping just out of arm’s reach, Ches gives Little Bird a sullen look. “Santi says since your people gave the baby a gift, we ought to give you one too.” He holds out the object, a flat thing as large as his head, with poor grace.

Little Bird cautiously takes it.

“How come Fledgling doesn’t get a gift?” she asks, doesn't unwrap it as she gives him a stinkeye.

Ches shrugs, holding the straps of his pack. “He just said ‘a gift,’ so we only made one. You can share it.”

“I helped,” Alam says, ginning.

“That’s why I said ‘we’,” Ches hisses. Alam butts him with his shoulder, and Ches elbows back, trading gradually smaller shoves before turning to the common enemy.

Little Bird squints at him, then at Alam, then back at Ches, and then unwraps the cloth.

Underneath is a wooden disk, painted in a red and white bullseye.

She looks back up at Ches, who is watching with a gleam in his eye. “You need to practice more.”

“Thanks,” she snarls, wrinkles her nose, bears her teeth.

Ches’s smile is no little bit wicked, and Alam muffles a laugh. “You’re welcome.”

“...On your eastern walk. Remind us to her, if you see her. Old Aunt Rin sends her regards,” Rin said to Adopted Magpie, face seamed with a smile. 

“We’ll see her this winter, I’ll pass along news.”

“Ches? Alam?” Adal’s voice rose above the crowd. Ches shoots one last look at Little Bird, who sneers at him again, and he runs to catch up. Alam lags behind, sticking his tongue out one last time before hurrying to safety.

Adal has her hands on her hips, on the edge of the Walker group. “What’d she say?”

“Hated it,” Ches says, unable to stop smiling.

Adal smooths at her cheeks, trying to make it a thoughtful gesture. “Well, I’m sure you feel very bad about it already, so I won’t punish you. You should have a real long think about other people’s feelings as we walk.”

There’s some shuffling from the group of Birds, before Head Vulture starts yelling to call them in.

“331 Jester!” she calls, and there’s a murmur and a forming up. The last of the Birds say quick goodbyes to the Walker, and scurry over to join the group. There’s a few bars of nonsense syllables, led by Head Vulture, and then she swings her arm up into the air, then down to start a song.

“ _If your daughters want to go_  
_why don’t they come along_?”

Part of the group bursts into giggling fits, and the song falters for a moment before it picks up again.

“ _We belong to this band_ ,  
_Hallelujah_!

“ _Hallelujah, hallelujah_!  
_We belong to this band_ ,  
_Hallelujah!_ ”

The giggling continues for a moment.

The Walker pause, standing in loose ranks. Some of them glance at each other, murmuring darkly, but most listen quietly, nodding with the beat.

Head Vulture starts the song again, one arm in the air to signal.

“ _If our feet they want to go_  
_why don’t we go along_?”  
_We belong to this road_ ,  
_Hallelujah_!

“ _Hallelujah, hallelujah_!  
_We belong to this road_ ,  
_Hallelujah_!”

As they end, the Walker nod to one another, a few whistling and cheering at the other tribe. A voice rises up over the band’s chatter, and they fall silent, facing forward. Santi’s voice is strong for its age, and the band joins in for the second verse, all taking the first step in unison. Some of them glance back at the Birds, the baritones and odd bass drawing out the words and throwing power behind the sound, sopranos showing off in their highest reaches.

A few of the Birds sing the tune quietly, but none joins with the words, watching as the Walker begin to leave.

Following along the river, the Walker song fades, the rolls of the hills swallowing them up. Soon, there’s only the wind bringing snatches of voices, a faint memory of a meeting.

“Think there's any prospects?” Raven asks Head Vulture as they turn to the northeast.

“One or two is all. Maybe that Adal girl? The one with the two boys. Bad husbands are good indicators.” Head Vulture shrugs. “Also hates me, which is another good indicator.”

“It’s not,” Henny murmurs.

“Is sometimes,” Head Vulture insists. 

“Just means she doesn’t like you,” Henny sighs. “No spite-joins I’ve heard of.”

“Yet!” Head Vulture grins and ticks one finger up, bumps Henny with her shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song the Birds are singing: [X](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jNBYhHBlQ8U)


End file.
